I was very lucky to have a great Dad. Although he is gone I still feel very lucky. He was honest, hard working, talented, dedicated and had a great sense of humor. He was in my eyes –a great man.

He was also a sentimental man. After my Dad passed, we found battered old folders in the back of his desk. One folder for each child. Inside were notes and cards that we had given him at various ages in our individual lives. He had kept so many from each of us. I had given him a copy of the below list with a note saying,” I don’t have to wait till I’m 30 to appreciate how smart you are“. I felt very mature and evolved at the time for letting him know how much I thought of him. He must have too because it was in my folder. Every now and again this list pops up via email and it still brings a tear to my eye. Everyday I do my best to be just like him.

4 years: My Daddy can do anything!
7 years: My Dad knows a lot…a whole lot.
8 years: My father does not know quite everything.
12 years: Oh well, naturally Father does not know that either.
14 years: Oh, Father? He is hopelessly old-fashioned.
21 years: Oh, that man-he is out of date!
25 years: He knows a little bit about it, but not much.
30 years: I must find out what Dad thinks about it.
35 years: Before we decide, let’s get Dad’s idea first.
50 years: What would Dad have thought about that?
60 years: My Dad knew literally everything!
65 years: I wish I could talk it over with Dad once more.

Fathers Day, June 20^th , is quickly approaching. Celebrate your father or the father of your children with a gift certificate at Daydream. For gift ideas visit www.daydreamct@att.net

It’s one of those nights where the moon swings low and the sky is speckled with stars. I’m on my way to a party that is very exclusive. I step up into my Jeep in my little black dress and strappy shoes, hoping not to wrinkle anything or break a heel.

At the party someone hands me a glass of Pinot grigio as I survey the scene. When I set eyes on him, I can’t believe I’m seeing whom I’m seeing. Even more unbelievable is the fact that he’s setting eyes on me. He nods slightly, and I return my best Mona Lisa smile. Don’t drop your wine glass, kid, I tell myself. Stay cool.

As he approaches, I take a sip of my wine, lifting my eyes over the glass and giving a direct look. I take a swallow and shake my hair slightly. He extends a hand.

“My name is George,” he tells me.

“I know,” I reply and let him take my hand.

When he smiles back at me, the corners of his eyes crinkle. He’s as tall as I thought he would be, and his chin is set in that square-sexy way I’ve seen a million times on a movie screen. George Effing Clooney has my hand and isn’t letting go.

It gets better than that. By the end of the evening, he’s asked me to go with him and a couple of friends to a concert. He says he’ll pick me up.

The limo pulls up to my house, and as the driver opens the door to the back I see George inside plus his two friends, Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie. Holy crap.

George and Brad are drinking beers. “Want one?” George asks.

“Sure,” I say.

When we get to the concert venue and park, Brad pulls out a joint and lights it. Angelina and I decide against smoking, but George and Brad toke up like it’s the Summer of Love. I don’t smoke myself, but I don’t particularly have anything against it, either. It’s just not my thing.

“Careful, George,” Angelina warns. “You remember what happened last time.”

George waves Angelina off. “I’ll be fine,” he says.

“Don’t worry about him, worry about yourself,” Brad tells her.

Once inside the concert venue, the boys wave over a waitress. We’re at tables outside the main theater and isolated from everyone else. When we order I stick with beer, Angelina gets some sort of pink, fruity-looking thing, and the boys get rusty nails.

“What’s in a rusty nail?” I ask.

“Everything!” says Brad, and he and George laugh.

Okay, I’m no prude, but pot and hard liquor? Is this a college flashback or what? I guess what they say about people working hard and playing hard in Hollywood is true. Eventually, we make our way into the theater and to our seats. I sit between George and Angelina. George’s eyes are glazed and his mouth forms a languid grin that looks like it’s been painted onto his face with a big, wide brush.

“You’re going to really enjoy this,” says George.

Oh yes, sir, I am! God, is he gorgeous.

The lights go down. The music starts. George passes out.

Angelina gives me a slight poke in the ribs. “Is he asleep?” she asks.

“Yeah. Totally knocked out,” I reply. I try to jostle him awake, but he’ll have none of it. He’s bent all the way forward, his head resting in his hands.

How can I tell my friends I went on a date with George Clooney and he fell asleep? This isn’t how it’s supposed to go! Every once in a while he stirs a little, so at least I know he’s still alive.

When the band leaves the stage for good, I shake George’s arm and say it’s time to go. Mr. Clooney groans and lifts his upper body until he’s in an upright sitting position. He’s thrown up all down his front and onto the floor. His shirt is stained and his eyes are gauzy as he attempts to focus.

“Uhhhhrrrgghhh. . . whatthehell?” he asks.

Angelina says to me, “That’s what happened the last time he smoked pot. He puked all over the grass at Steven Spielberg’s house. I told him not to smoke!”

“Wha–?” says George.

Brad grabs George’s arm and starts yanking. “C’mon, Georgie Boy. Up, up, up!”

George stands and wavers as he scans the room. Everyone walking by is grinning, and I look down, hoping no one I know will see me. I’m also hoping there are no reporters around. Brad leads George out into the aisle. In order to make my own way out to the aisle, I have to step over George’s hurl. Classy dating moment of the century.

George, as you can guess, can hardly walk. So as Brad and I clear a path through the crowd, I hold George by his shoulders and push. His legs are like long cords of licorice, bending and swaying. It’s like the guy has no bones, just rubber bands under his skin.

“Ehhhrgh. . . wha’yah? Huh?” he mumbles.

We make our way slowly up the aisle. He’s groaning and listing like a sinking ship, and I say a silent prayer that he won’t heave ho again. Brad turns toward us as we reach the bright light of the lobby to see how we’re progressing. He turns then stops walking, his jaw hanging like a pendulum from his face.

“Jesus Christ, he’s PISSED HIMSELF, too!” he exclaims.

The words drape over me like a shroud of stench. Pissed himself. I’m on a date with a guy once voted Sexiest Man Alive and he’s pissed himself. At that point I wonder if, in fact, I do have the worst luck in the world with men. George, all rubber limbs and stained clothes, lurches toward the parking lot.

Ladies and Gentleman, I present to you the Sexiest Man Alive: Mister Pisster.

Brad lays his jacket down on the limo seat before guiding George in. No reason to get Clooney’s bodily fluids all over the leather upholstery, after all.

As we pull away, Brad says to the limo driver, “Just a sec’! Slow down for a sec’!”

The driver slows, and George leans out of the door, simultaneously releasing the rest of his stomach contents. It’s a moment to treasure.

I’m dropped off at my house. It’s grown cold, and I wrap my coat around myself tighter, trying the erase the visual of George’s performance of the Technicolor yawn from my mind.

He calls the next day. He talks for a long time without mentioning the previous evening’s doings. I figure he’s so mortified that he’s having trouble bringing it up. Frankly, I felt sorry for him. I can’t imagine hucking and pissing myself on a date.

“That was some concert, huh?” he says. “Sorry I fell asleep thorough most of it. Oh well. . . that happens sometimes.”

There’s no mention of the drinking, the smoking, or the release of bodily fluids. No apology. No excuse. No remorse. “So. . .” says George, “You want to go out again?”

I say, “Maybe. I’ll call you.”

I don’t call him.

** Author’s Note: Yes, it’s April Fool’s Day today. However, this story is true. Well. . . except for the part where the guy is George Clooney and his friends are Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie. And okay, we went to the concert in a Honda rather than a limo. But the rest? All true.

So Mr. Clooney, if you would like to go on a date with me, email me here at shorelineoutandabout.com. But please, don’t piss yourself on the date. Even the Sexiest Man Alive can’t get away with that.

Unlike most I’ve never quite understood all the hoopla about chocolate or most sweets for that matter. As a child I even gave away my Halloween candy. My Easter basket was often the cause of stomach pains for bickering siblings. They scarfed up chocolate bunnies whole before my Mom figured out I would have been happier having my basket filled with a pound of bacon. Recently I discovered a new culinary craze that just may have changed my mind about the wonders of chocolate. Yes folks it’s the salty, sweet, funky deliciousness of Chocolate covered Pork!

The perfect pairing of sweet and savory is sweeping to nation! Pig farmers everywhere are rejoicing! No more are people bypassing the bacon in favor of healthy alternatives. It may make it taste better but who wants to dip a low fat turkey breakfast link in dark silky chocolate when you can really go whole hog and use a slice of thick smoky bacon. Sweet shops everywhere just can’t seem to make enough of this Pig-centric delight. Recently one man told me it’s the only food he and his wife can agree upon!

If you forgot to pre-order this new holiday treat I’ve come up with my own recipe to serve to friends and family at Easter Brunch. As I like to pair all of my dishes with the perfect wine I did a bit of experimenting and came up with some finds that are affordable and fun!

Chocolate Covered Bacon

1 lb. package Artisan Bacon, you can find some locally produced gems online at http://www.farmersmarketonline.com/fm/Connecticut.htm

1 ½ lbs Dark chocolate coarsely chopped, Trader Joe’s has an excellent bar called Pound Plus if you don’t have a favorite!

1 small white chocolate bar for garnish

Line 2 baking sheets with foil and lay bacon out across pan in single layer. Bake in preheated 400 degree oven for 15-20 min till crisp. Drain bacon on paper towels and set aside.

Place chopped chocolate in microwave safe bowl and microwave at 50% power for 1 minute. Stir and continue microwaving at 30 second intervals stirring each time till smooth and melted well. Dip each piece of bacon in melted chocolate coating well and lay on tray lined with wax paper to cool.

Melt white chocolate in small bowl using same technique as in dark chocolate. Put in squeeze bottle and drizzle over coated bacon slices. Serve on platter decorated with dark cherries and strawberries.

For the perfect pairing try a Sparkling Shiraz from Australia! The rich dark fruit flavors, velvety tannins and seductive sparkle play perfectly with the sweet salty flavors. Try Paringa Sparkling Shiraz 2008 or The Black Chook Sparkling Shiraz for 2 great finds under $20! Sparkling Shiraz is often overlooked but it can be a fun, fantasticly playful experience!

Port wine also is a great pairing with this sweet treat! Try Graham’s Six Grapes Reserve Porto NV. With concentrated flavors of dark red berries, chocolate, earth and licorice it’s the perfect end to your feast served along with some walnuts and almonds!

Happy Easter! I’m sure this recipe will become a family favorite and addition to your yearly holiday table!

Says Senator Christopher Dodd, our senior Senator ” Straight out, we screwed the pooch. Not that Health Care is a bad idea, it is definitely needed, we just, well, we kinda had our proverbial heads up our asses.”

Needless to say, I was quite stunned at the candor that the esteemed Senator was showing.

So I asked.

“How is that?  How can what is widely touted as a bold move forward, be such a bad thing?”

” Simple. We never figured how much it would cost, our how complex a problem it really is. We kinda forgot that the original campaign promise made in Iowa, was for AFFORDABLE health insurance, and not AVAILABLE.  We, being the DNC, made that change later on during the presidential campaign, because quite honestly, we realized that the system as we now know it would never allow us to keep that promise.”

” We figured that the President only said affordable a couple of times, and since no one really pays attention to the details during the campaign anyways, well, what the hell. Who knew someone would actually find a soundbite with him saying that?  Besides,  then the Republicans would have to either come up with an alternative, which we could then either copy, or, tweak,  so to speak, or they would have to oppose it, and look like they didn’t care. Quite honestly, both sides of the aisle kinda thought that John Q. Public would just forget and chalk it up as another empty promise. Guess everyone here in DC guessed wrong on that one.”

Rather stunned at all of this, I thanked the senator for his time and went down the hall. Figured Joe Lieberman being the “maverick” that he is might have a slightly different take on this.

“Nope” says the Senator, “That’s about it in a nutshell”

Yeah, my jaw is bouncing off the floor right about….. Now.

So I ask, ” What are all of you doing about this”

” Nothing”  states the Senator. “At least not until after recess, at the very earliest”

Okaaayyyy….

Senator Lieberman went on to state that they were only trying to keep a promise, and that neither side truly has an answer, because ” Hell, we are politicians, not businessmen. Most of us couldn’t tell a calculator from a computer. That’s what aides are for.”

He did explain a few things though. Things such as you can’t pass legislation to fix everything, that maybe, just maybe, a lot of lawyers, doctors, and insurance types will probably have to sit down and talk, and figure out the answers, and then something can get done, but, after all, this is Washington, so that will take about 8 months to figure out when we can meet, and by then, well, elections are pretty much over with, so what’s the rush?

As you may have figured out by now, this conversation never really happened, but , maybe, it should. That is, I would love to have a half hour with both Senators, and ask them a few questions. Anyone got a phone number?

With that in mind I thought about the history of this odd celebratory day and what is it we are celebrating? What can or perhaps should we do on this auspicious day as well? History, frivolity or a combination of any and all possibilities, could that be the combination. Let me say this before anything else, I am proud to say that when it comes to the practical joke side of this, I over shoot the mark or fall woefully short so as to lose any hope of actually hitting the mark, whatever that may be.

That being said I divert your attention to the history of this celebration. Believe it or not the origin of which is at best debatable. The first being references to April Fool’s Day, some suggest did not appear in any great numbers until the 1800’s. Yet many agree by that time the tradition was well established throughout northern Europe and was regarded as being of great antiquity. Still others suggest references to April Fool’s Day can be found as early as the 1500s. Again others argue that these references were uncommon and not very clear.

One of the more popular theories I’ve found stems from the change of the French Calendar during the 16^th century (yes I researched this). It goes a little something like this: France changed its calendar, moving the start of the year from the end of March to first of January. Now we know there are always those who are slow to accept change. Those poor souls had jokes played on them by, those more mainstream, placing paper fish on their backs. The victims of this prank were thus called Poisson d’Avril, or April Fish—which, to this day, remains the French term for April Fools—and so some say began the tradition.

The above theorem is complicated by well documented changes to the calendar. For instance

The Julian Calendar, established by Julius Caesar in 46 BC, made January 1 the first day of the year.

In 1563 King Charles IX decreed January 1 to be the first day of the year, thus aligning legal convention with what had become the popular practice.

Then there is the British Calendar Change in 1752. So while it may be unclear where it started many believe it started because of a change to someone’s calendar. See and you thought it was all tomfoolery!

Now if your into just the frivolity of the day then by all means don’t do what I do and point to someone’s shirt and when they look down simply flick their nose, so lame. There are a host of web sites with ideas on how to bait someone in to a trap on April Fool’s Day. Or try the Westport Arts Center. They start a new exhibition series based on the theme of storytelling, beginning with an exhibition of cartoon art, entitled “Divine Comedy: Drawings by R. Crumb & Roz Chast.” The show is on view from April 1-May 30, and will open with a public reception on Thursday, April 1, from 6:30-8:30 p.m.

Prefer something a little more outdoorsy? Well the Literacy Volunteers Valley Shore, CT Inc., train volunteer tutors to teach basic reading and English as a second language primarily to adult residents of the Valley Shore area who cannot read, write or speak English. They are hosting the 3rd Annual April Fools’ 5K Run/Walk & Backwards Mile race. Now to I don’t want to make light of anyone willing to walk or run a race backwards but that’s got to be a sight!

So, there we have a little history, frivolity, and healthy activities for a good cause (aside from catching someone in your April Fool’s Trap) to help you enjoy this celebration that is seemingly without origin!

http://www.connecticutplus.com/cplus/information/news/Art/Divine-Comedy-opens-at-WAC-This-April-Fools-Day77837783.shtml

http://www.vsliteracy.org/race_2010.htm

A Paul McCartney lyric asks what’s wrong with silly love songs. Well, sometimes nothing. But then again, sometimes everything.

Listening to the radio at work exposes me to a lot of music I wouldn’t ordinarily tolerate. Most of it’s okay, but when it comes to love songs, my tolerance runs pretty low. Sometimes I wonder just who is into the silly love songs that play on the radio. Are these the same people who collect Precious Moments figurines and put sweaters and little booties on their teacup Pomeranians? I bet they are.

Boy-band love songs top my list of silly pieces of crap that I’d rather not have assaulting my ears, much less my brain. Sure, thirteen-year-old girls love the songs (and the boys), but even when I was of the proper age, I still didn’t like boy bands. I’m proud of myself for that. I hate the way they sing. I hate the words they sing. I hate the way they dance in synch as they sing. Ugh.

I’m going out on a limb to say any song with the word hero in it besides David Bowie’s “Heroes” is going to blow, especially if it falls under the love-song category. My worst nightmare includes an endless math test taken to a perpetual loop of “I Can Be Your Hero” by Enrique Iglesias. Actually, it wouldn’t matter what I was doing if that wet fart of a song was playing. If I was lying on a tropical beach with a margarita and that song was playing in the background, I’d still be in one of Dante’s nine circles of hell.

You can’t kiss away the pain of listening to your hideous song, Enrique! Sorry.

Who would want to be with a guy who sings to you like that? I mean, really. Really. His voice is all quivery as he asks if you would dance with him. He sounds like he’s about to collapse into a full-on weeping jag as he asks if you would cry if you saw him crying. No, I wouldn’t cry, Enrique. I’d feel really uncomfortable, completely turned off, and hand you a box of tissues. Then I wouldn’t return your phone calls.

Sensitive men are sexy. Weepy, needy, emotionally graspy men are not. Is graspy a word? It is now.

Female singers can be just as bad. I confess a guilty-pleasure appreciation for Mariah Carey’s “Vision of Love.” I’m not ashamed. Okay, maybe just a little. But there’s no way I can sit through “My Heart Will Go On” by Celine Dion or “I Will Always Love You” by Whitney Houston. Besides being overblown vessels for showing off the voices of the singers, they are loaded with as much treacle as a Hallmark card commercial. I get the sugar shakes just thinking about either one of them.

Lest you think I’m a total love-song Scrooge, I’m not totally against love songs. There are some that completely knock me out. “Something” by George Harrison is a masterpiece that I wish someone had created for me. “Layla” by Eric Clapton is a testament to obsessive, mind-blowing love that gets you between its teeth like a rabid dog and refuses to let go. “Wicked Game” by Chris Isaac is just plain wicked hot. No question. The music, the lyrics, the way he sings it. Damn.

“Kiss by a Rose” by Seal seems like it would be awful if you judged it by the title alone. But, like “Wicked Game,” it’s hot. You go Seal, you hot thing, you. Scotty Morris of Big Bad Voodoo Daddy totally gets me with “Please, Baby.” Please baby, indeed. Whenever you want, Scotty. Just let me know.

There are, of course, some wonderful love songs from way back when. Cole Porter wrote some gems on the sentimental side, including “Easy to Love” and “It’s De-Lovely.” And let’s not leave out “Let’s Do It (Let’s Fall in Love).” This is a true classic with a humorous twist best sung by Louis Armstrong.

For pure romance, listen to Frank Sinatra sing “The Best Is Yet to Come” or, better yet, “Last Dance.” Old Blue Eyes is literally the voice of amour.

Sometimes I don’t know what’s worse, though, listening to the bad love songs or the good love songs. The bad ones are terrible to sit through and annoying. But sometimes the good ones can make you really feel what you’re missing. This is especially true in those post-breakup or dry-spell times when you’re the most vulnerable emotionally. Damn you and bless you, Chris Isaac, for making me wish I was in love.

Around 5:00 the night before our Jet Blue flight was scheduled to leave White Plains airport, I logged on to the airline website only to discover our flight was cancelled. Since Jet Blue only gives you the option of being notified of any flight changes TWO HOURS before your departure time we would not have known had I not decided to check. It had snowed heavily that day in Westchester and apparently White Plains airport can’t handle the weather the way the New York City airports can.

Panic ensued.

After being on hold for 20 minutes with Jet Blue, I found myself speaking with a very nice woman who, it became quickly apparent, had no clue as to what she was doing.

Not good.

I should have hung up THEN and redialed Jet Blue for another operator.

But I didn’t. She was too nice.

She appeared to be having trouble even accessing Jet Blue flights on her computer; I had to tell her there was a flight the next day out of JFK that we would like to get on. When she informed me that there were seats on that flight but because of some new system she couldn’t book us and would need to TRANSFER us to the “change desk” I knew exactly what I would hear next. I thanked her for her help and then I heard it: DIAL TONE. I had been disconnected.

After another 30 minutes on hold with Jet Blue, Bob (it was HIS turn now) spoke with another woman who informed us that the flight we had been told had seats available was now FULL. We now had no other option but to lose a day and fly out the following morning. We would have to eat one night of our hotel and all likely due to the incompetence of the nice lady I had spoken with at Jet Blue and had opted not to hang up on.

Incidently, an e-mail to Jet Blue written by me that night in an angry and somewhat drunken stupor has gone unanswered to date.

So we got there a day late and a few hundred dollars short.

Our time on Sanibel Island was wonderful; unfortunately, although sunny, the weather barely topped 60. A very gusty wind meant we never put on bathing suits but instead spent a few hours on the beach fully dressed in layers: jeans, sweatshirts, jackets, hats, sneakers. Even in layers we could only stand to stay about an hour before we were just too cold and felt sort of ridiculous. We came home as pale as we were when we left Connecticut.

But it was beautiful.

We visited the wildlife refuge several times and each time saw different birds (many photos are on my Facebook page and soon will be on my website too: www.pamlandry.com…I’ve also included a couple of pictures here) including the stunning and bizarre bright pink roseate spoonbills (sort of a cross between a flamingo and a duck-billed platypus) lots of osprey, herons and egrets.

And from the “small world” department, mid-week I received a message through Facebook (gotta love the wireless internet) from our friends Rick and Peg who live in Greenwich. They had found out through a mutual friend that we were on Sanibel. We all live in Connecticut yet we can’t ever manage to get together.

So we had dinner together in Florida.

The last evening of our adventure on Sanibel could have ended very badly and it had nothing to do with a nice but clueless woman from Jet Blue.

See, by week’s end we were running low on toilet paper and instead of bothering the owner of the property, we just took a roll from the supply shed in the backyard. This turned out to be a mistake as damp toilet paper just doesn’t do “the job”.

Perhaps we might put it in the microwave, briefly, to dry it out?

I am not sure at what point we started to smell something burning; turns out Bob had put the toilet paper roll in the microwave but instead of setting it for under a minute he had inadvertently set it for FIVE MINUTES. Our toilet paper was BURNING. Bob grabbed it and, looking like a cartoon character, juggled the smoldering roll out to the backyard. Now our apartment smelled like something was on fire; miraculously the smoke alarm did NOT go off. We opened windows to air out the joint. A few hours later the property owner called us to ask if everything was okay; some of the other guests had called him concerned that something was on fire.

No we just overcooked our toilet paper. Everything’s fine.

Fortunately he laughed and said his biggest concern was that we would go home and tell people he provides toilet paper that needs to be microwaved before use.

No sir you just rent your apartments to stupid people from Connecticut.

The next morning Bob fetched the well-done roll of toilet paper from the yard. It was barely recognizable as a roll of toilet paper. We left beautiful Sanibel with the faint smell of burning in the air of our apartment and a good laugh at something that could have been a complete disaster but, lucky for us, simply became story fodder.

As far as we know there is no warrant out for our arrest in Florida.

The fact is we all made a mess of it with short memories, a failure to study history, our gullible susceptibility to special interests, our morbid susceptibility to political promises, and “corrective” entitlement programs that correct nothing and leave disaster in their wakes. There’s a brief history of the mess here:

http://www.city-journal.org/2009/19_2_homeownership.html

If you don’t like that one, find another one. Since history is man-made storytelling, no historical recounting constitutes an objective recitation of facts as they unfolded. But this legislative story is a matter of formal record. So, if you don’t want to burrow through the government documentation (who could blame you?), look up the recounting of that record that suits you best. But do look it up.

Grandpa O’Brien graduated from Yale in 1919. He was 24 years old. He paid his own way through school. He spent his professional career in insurance. He raised three children, all of whom went to Ivy League schools. When he passed away, he left Grandma O’Brien very well off. He never owned a home, despite the government’s belief that it was somewhere between his right and his duty to do so. He paid reasonable rents for comfortable apartments. He didn’t over-extend himself. He didn’t default on anything, let alone a mortgage some pandering politician thought he was supposed to have that he couldn’t afford.

Why is that viewed as odd, as opposed to responsible? In what or whose interest would a politician presume Grandpa should own a home, then create counter-productive legislation to create the appearance of its being easier for him to get a mortgage?

When you have a house of cards as large as our federal government, it’s hard to believe even that one will collapse of its own weight. But every house of cards does. Given the fragility of the one built by Congress, perhaps we should require our political office-holders to weigh in before they cross the threshold.

Our own homes, rented or otherwise, would be sturdier if they weren’t dealt from the bottom of the deck.

We have the “magazine” section, which is what you are looking at, with over 40 separate contributors writing on anything from wine and cheese to straight out humor columns. Our Living section gives you what you need for a better quality of life. Our Destinations, Music,Dining, Entertainment sections are designed to help you find all that you need so that you can enjoy your time off. We are committed to giving back to the community, such as helping out our friends and neighbors in our Charities section, because to me, it’s about more than just giving fun stuff away.

In the right-hand column and also at the top of every page you will notice our events calendar. Bands playing out, great theater, shows at The Kate and The Garde, community events,  and special events. And we want you to submit whatever you have. I will post all the events that we possibly can, so send them to us. We want you to join this great big community that we are building.

Speaking of community, become a member, it’s FREE, we have a ton of groups that have already formed, and we just want to keep growing. Want to find like minded people to join you in whatever activity it is that you enjoy? Start your own group, and invite your friends.

There are all sorts of things to do in Connecticut, and we want everyone to share a little about those “Hidden Gems” that many of you know, and wish that everyone else did.  So, if you have an interest that you want to share, please, do so. Better yet, start a group, and make sure you invite me, I promise that I will do all that I can to help that group grow. We are testing the final part of our new social media platform, and trust me when I tell you this, it is going to be exactly what you want. We have observed the trends, and learned so much in these last 6 months,now we are going to share it.

Hey, did you know that you also get discounts?  When I enter into an agreement with the various marketing partners that you see, I offer them a reduced cost to advertise with us, provided they give my members a discount on their services. It’s all about giving back to all of you.

Here is what I like best about having the website: We moderate it. I am really disappointed in so many other websites, and the comments that I see. To this end, we only allow members to comment on posts, not any anonymous nutcase. It’s all about accountability. We enjoy conversations, and encourage debate. Even spirited ones. But we also believe in respect. Well thought words are always more effective than insult and slander. So, start a conversation, and know that even if someone disagrees with your point, you will enjoy a great conversation.

Thank You for coming to Shoreline Out and About. I hope that you enjoy the experience, and also hope that you become a member. We are going to rewrite the rulebook, and have a blast doing it. Come along for the ride, I promise you, it’s going to be a good one. And if it’s not, I want to know about it.

Edwin Williams Bartlett

Chairman, and Chief Social Networker

Bad behavior.

Specifically,  that of my side of the human race.  The male of the species.

Now there are some very aggressive females out there to, but I am not touching that.  At least for now.

Now I am not saying that I am an expert on dating,  or some sort of stud or anything.  I just find myself  rather incredulous at what happens in man’s quest to meet women.  Or,  actually, the attempt by man to procreate.  That’s right.

Score.

Get lucky.

Get Laid

Actually,  I know that there are much more popular terms used,  I still have to keep this thing somewhat on the PC side.

So,  here’s what getting me.  What happened to just going up to a woman,  and saying “Hello” or asking her to dance, engaging in conversation? You know,  just being social?  I really don’t think it’s that hard.  All it requires is confidence.  I know it may be awkward to some,  so, what’s the worst thing that can happen,  no interest?  So, nothing has changed, so what’s the big deal. Why the need to go to the pick up line?  I mean, guys,  think about these.

“If I told you,  you have a beautiful body,  would you hold it against me?”

Right now,  I am thinking the only thing she wants to hold against you is a large caliber handgun.  And guess where it is pointed?

“Hey,  do you have any Band-Aids?  Because I think that I skinned my knees falling for you!”

Okay,  her knees,  your groin.  And I think that ice may help,  but probably not.

“Do you have a map?  Because I keep getting lost in your eyes!”

Nice try,  but dude, you  eyes haven’t gotten that high yet, and she knows it.

Now,  you see what I am saying?  I don’t know if it’s pathetic,  or embarrassing.   Actually it’s both. And it shouldn’t be that way.  No person should ever feel awkward walking into any place.  It’s just wrong.

The next thing that annoys me,  and is so very wrong,  is when guys try to “seal the deal” in like ten minutes. You get her attention, you actually talk,  start to hit it off,  and so you ask her to dance.  Yeah, t hings seem to be going well,  so you  bring her in close,  hold her hand,  put your arm around her. Grab her ass.

“Hey, where you going, I thought you wanted me to do that”

No, generally not what she is thinking.  Unless her name is “Charmin”

So,  really, think about what I just said, and here is a piece of advice.  Just because there are a couple of women hanging around,  it does not mean that they are looking for the hook up.  Maybe they are there with some friends. As in guys. And maybe,  just maybe, these guys would take some serious offense if you thought that asking them “Are those real” was a great way to break the ice. Yup, you do that to my friends, and I can promise you it ain’t the ice that is going to get broken.